The Last Straw
by ravenclawmeg
Summary: FINISHED!!! EPILOGUE UP! The summer after GoF. Harry gets sick and the Dursleys don't care. What will happen to him? Only PG because it isn't overly plesant.
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry, the Dursleys, the Weasley's, Hedwig, Sirius, Lupin or anyone mentioned in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling (easily the greatest author since… well, a very long time) and Warner bro.s.  
  
SPOILERS: Book three, book four… It's kind of hard to understand if you haven't read them.  
  
Harry had to admit to himself, in retrospect, that the first month of that summer was definitely one of his better stays at Privet Drive, though the thought was quite depressing considering not a single coherent word was uttered to him in that stretch of time. Not that he overly missed being addressed by the Dursleys, but still… if he could find someone besides Hedwig to talk to… especially after all that had happened at the end of his fourth year…  
  
Harry pushed the last thought out of his head right away. It did him no good to dwell on it, difficult as the memories were to avoid. He certainly had plenty of time for thoughts.  
  
This was not to say that Harry never got any letters ~ quite the contrary, Harry had received more mail from his friends Hermione, Ron, and a few from his school Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher Hagrid in one month than he had his entire summer last year ~ but it simply wasn't the same as having his friends nearby to talk to. And than there was Sirius…  
  
Harry's godfather, having spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he did not commit, was not a fugitive from the Ministry of Magic, and had yet to send Harry a single letter since Harry had last seen him. He had, as far as Harry knew, gone on a special trip for Dumbeldore to "alert the old crowd" in regards to the most feared dark wizard in a century, Lord Voldemort. Harry knew that Sirius was to be staying at Remus Lupin's for a while, but still worried about what would happen should Sirius be caught and handed back to the Dementors.  
  
What distinguished this summer from Harry's previous ones, apart from the recent uprising of Lord Voldemort, was the sudden epidemic of a particularly nasty flu spreading up and down Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia had contracted it first, but insisted that she was not too ill to cook and would not let Uncle Vernon or the two boys anywhere near the oven. Harry therefore had to endure a week of his Aunt's temper, now about ten times shorter than normal as she puttered about the kitchen dabbing at her red nose with a hideously pink handkerchief and yelling at them in her now very hoarse shrill voice.  
  
Then had come Uncle Vernon. Harry had thought it would be a relief not to have to deal with him for a full three days, but instead found it increasingly irritating as his burly Uncle's voice, unaffected by illness, shouted at them all from his behind his (thankfully closed) bedroom door. It was also difficult to leave his room without bumping into Aunt Petunia, who scurried about the house fetching her husband tea and brandy.  
  
But by far the worst was Dudley, who was known for being able to milk even a simple papercut for all it was worth. Harry seriously doubted weather Dudley was in as much discomfort as he let on, but his Aunt and Uncle had submitted themselves completely to their son's care. They proceeded to wait on him had and foot for a solid two weeks, buying him more chocolate and candy than was normal for even Dudley and throwing stones at the squirrels outside for making too much noise while Harry's small rhinoceros of a cousin slept.  
  
So the first part of Harry's summer basically consisted of owling his friends, dodging his family and talking long walks around the neighborhood. It never really occurred to him that he was also susceptible to catching the flu until he woke up early one morning to a throbbing ache in his forehead.  
  
At first he thought he'd been woken up by the scar on his forehead, which pained him whenever Voldemort was nearby or feeling particularly murderous. Naturally this summer that had become increasingly common, as had his nightmares. But that changed when he'd sat up and found lifting his head rather similar to lifting a small Hippogriff. He groaned to himself. *Just what I need, * he thought bitterly, *to get sick now. *  
  
He huggeed his knees to his chest and shivered. Maybe it was due to the ominous rise of Voldemort, or maybe it was just plain coincidence, but that summer had been much colder and rainier than normal. As if that weren't enough, the latch on Harry's window had broken and he could not shut it completely. He was left with a crack about a centimeter high that he had attempted to block with a pair of socks. But they didn't really do much.  
  
Harry looked across the room at the calendar on his wall, where he had checked off the days until September first. Today was July 30th, the last day he had to be fourteen.  
  
*Even better, * he thought, *I get to be ill on my birthday. *  
  
His eyes flew to Hedwig's cage, open and empty. She was off delivering a letter at the moment. Harry more than ever longed for her company, some comfort to distract him from his increasingly pounding headache. She had been gone a while ~ maybe she would return today.  
  
Harry glanced at the clock by his bed. Five o'clock in the morning. Knowing he would not be able to get back to sleep with this headache now, he stood up and grabbed the bedpost to steady himself. He staggered into the bathroom ~ quietly, so as to avoid waking the Dursleys ~ and poured himself a cup of water. He than wet a washcloth with cold water and wrung it out into the sink.  
  
He paused for a moment to look at himself in the mirror. He could see dark shadows under his eyes, partially hidden by his round glasses, and his skin was paler than normal, in contrast to his sharp green eyes and jet black hair and the red lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.  
  
Harry massaged his temples for a moment and groaned softly before returning to his bedroom. He shivered and lay down, finding the cold sheets no comfort and wishing he could cast a spell to warm them. The cool cloth provided some comfort to his aching head, however, and he soon found himself surrendered to the soothing serenity of sleep.  
  
A/N: PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. I know it's kind of boring now but it will get better, I promise. But please review, I need the constructive criticism. 


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I still don't own any of the characters mentioned here. They still belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner bros.  
  
  
  
Harry awoke much later feeling considerably warmer. Too warm. It took him a minute to remember why there was a wet cloth on his forehead. He lifted it off and wiped away the drops of water that had slid down his cheeks and temples while he slept.  
  
Harry sat up and shuddered as the cold air met his sweaty pajamas. He clenched his teeth as the room suddenly gave a frightening spin and his stomach lurched.  
  
Hedwig had not returned. Nor was there any sign of her out the window. Harry pressed his forehead against the cold glass in an attempt to relieve the returning ache. His insides lurched again and Harry clamped a trembling hand to his mouth. He hurried to his door, opened it a crack and peered into the upstairs hall. After the window latch had first broken his Aunt, who had a keen sense for something going wrong, had shut his bedroom door and told Uncle Vernon (in loud voices, Harry had suspected, so that he would hear without them actually having to say anything to him) that his door needed to stay closed so that it wouldn't freeze out the whole house.  
  
The hall was empty and the bathroom at the other end, much to Harry's relief, was deserted. Fighting down another wave of nausea, Harry dashed down the hall as if expecting one of the Dursleys to suddenly jump out of nowhere and block his path. He shut the door after him and leaned against it for a moment to catch his breath. His eyes widened suddenly; Harry rushed to the toilet and threw up.  
  
After the horrible retching had ceased, Harry stood slowly, feeling like someone had just performed the Jelly-legs curse on him. He leaned against the sink for a moment to catch his breath. Harry poured himself a cup of cool water to wash out the awful taste and spat back into the sink.  
  
Harry's head ached so horribly as he stumbled out the bathroom door that he didn't notice Uncle Vernon standing in his way. He ran right into the beefy man and nearly crashed to the floor.  
  
Uncle Vernon said nothing, but his small, beedy eyes flashed angrily in Harry's direction. Ever since the summer before when Harry had told them about his godfather the Dursleys had taken great care not to be overly horrible to their nephew, but this summer Harry was getting a nasty suspicion that he was living on borrowed time. The novel idea of Harry having an escaped murderer for a godfather was beginning to wear off, and he was beginning to notice his uncle's eyes moving from Harry to Dudley's knobbly Smelting's stick back to Harry, as though itching to take it in his large hands and give him a good thrashing.  
  
Harry thought it best to just disappear for a while, so he quickly and quietly scampered back into the safety of his bedroom and got dressed, thinking of going for a very long walk. He started shivering violently upon removing his pajama shirt and exposing his bare skin. It was colder than usual this morning ~ frightfully cold. Harry continued to shiver even after he'd put on two layers of his cousins old clothes (a shirt easily twice his size and a sweater that hung to his knees). His eyes fell upon the black cloak lying in his trunk among his robes and schoolbooks. The idea was so very tempting… but the knowledge of his aunt and uncle's reactions to anything even slightly out of the ordinary and the thought that he wasn't at all sure he could reach Sirius should they do anything to him took away the appeal.  
  
He thought for a fleeting second about the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father ~ it was equally as warm as his regular cloak and had the added advantage of rendering him invisible ~ but with that thought came the image of him accidentally bumping into one of the Dursley's while wearing it. The row that would most certainly follow was not one that Harry wished to risk.  
  
So Harry found himself walking slowly up the sidewalk ill, exhausted and absolutely freezing. But he didn't mind much. The rain had stopped for the first time in weeks and the clouds had parted to reveal crisp blue sky. And anything to get him away from the Dursley's was fine by him.  
  
Harry woke up very late that night to a sharp *tap tap tap * against the window. He groaned as he sat up; his arms and legs felt like they were made of lead. He grabbed for the bedpost and heaved himself to his feet. He slipped his fingers in the crack under the windowpane and pulled sharply upwards. Nothing happened. He pulled harder. Finally there came the smallest of creaks and the window began to slide upwards… slowly… slowly…  
  
Finally he had created enough space for Hedwig and the package she was carrying to squeeze inside. But she was not alone. His best friend Ron Weasley's owl Pigwidgeon shot through the window without a problem even with the letter he had tied to his talons, and proceeded to bounce about the room like a tiny, fluffy bludger. A third owl Harry didn't recognize struggled through the opening. This one seemed old (though not quite as old as the Weasley's family owl, Errol) and worn out. He had a letter and a package and landed quietly on the foot of Harry's bed.  
  
A fierce cold wind rushed in through the opening, rustling the parchment on Harry's desk. The rain had started again. Harry put every ounce of strength he possessed into shutting the window as far as it would go. He collapsed onto his pillows, gasping for breath. The room began to waver and spin and stars winked before his eyes. He would very well have fallen asleep were it not for Hedwig's concerned hoot to jerk him back to reality. She nipped him sharply on the finger and he reluctantly sat up.  
  
Harry fumbled with the string tying the parcel to Hedwig's talon. The mere act of focusing his eyes on the knot made him nearly go cross-eyed with pain. She fluttered to his knee after being freed and peered into his face, her yellow eyes round with worry.  
  
"I'm alright," Harry told her hoarsely, "Just a bit under the weather, that's all."  
  
She hooted softly and flew to her cage to take a drink.  
  
Untying the older owl was no easier, but Pigwidgeon was by far the most difficult. He squealed and flapped his tiny wings and refused to sit still for a moment. It took Harry a good ten minutes to wrestle the letter free. He recognized Ron's messy handwriting and tore open the envelope.  
  
Harry groaned, massaging his forehead. Trying to make out what the letter said was not going to be easy, and horrible for his headache.  
  
It read:  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Happy Birthday! Sorry I couldn't owl your present to  
  
you, Pig wasn't strong enough to carry it and mum wouldn't  
  
let me use Errol. We got an owl from Professor Dumbeldore  
  
yesterday saying you could come over now. Just owl us and  
  
we'll come and get you. I can give you your present then.  
  
Not sure how we're going to do it though. Dad doesn't want  
  
to frighten the muggles again with Floo powder, especially if  
  
the fireplace is blocked up again. Mum won't let Fred and  
  
George come this time after what they did to the muggle boy  
  
last year.  
  
Hope to see you soon!  
  
Ron  
  
P.S. Hermione's a prefect. She owled me yesterday. Can  
  
you imagine what that's going to be like?  
  
Harry laughed weakly. Hermione being made a prefect didn't surprise him a bit. Nor did Ron's revulsion, or his negative outlook.  
  
But something else worried him… Ron said Dumbeldore was going to let him go to the Weasley's now. Harry more than anything wanted to go, to get away from the Dursley's and stay with people he knew cared about him. But Harry knew how poor the Weasleys were, and how difficult it would be for them to afford to call a doctor. There was no doubt in his mind that that would be the very first thing Mrs. Weasley would do the moment she got wind of Harry's illness. He didn't want them to have to do that for him. Not when he could take care of himself. And what if he passed it on to them…  
  
No, now was definitely not the time to go. Harry felt terrible now, but would feel even worse if he spread the flu to the entire Weasley family after everything they had done for him these past four years.  
  
He'd have to write Ron ~ but how to tell him without worrying anyone? Harry noticed the two packages and the letter still waiting to be opened. He suddenly felt very tired.  
  
*I'll just lay down for a moment,* he thought to himself as he sank back onto the soft mattress, *Close my eyes for a second… then I'll get up… I'll open them in a moment… just a moment more… *  
  
A/N: I know it's an awkward place to leave it but this chapter was getting long. I plan on posting the next one VERY SOON I promise. But PLEASE review and tell me what you think. Constructive criticism helps A LOT. (Please don't flame me, I'm new at this. This is my second ever HP fanfic.) 


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: Nothing has changed since I wrote the last chapter. I still don't own Harry Potter or anyone in this story. I still think they are the coolest books ever to grace the planet. However, J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. are still their rightful owners.  
  
Bright sunlight streamed through the not-quite-completely-closed window directly into Harry's eyes. The light hurt. He screwed up his face against the sun and tried to turn his head away. Something slid down his face and pressed into his cheek. His glasses. Harry reached up with arms carved from stone and removed them. A hoarse moan escaped his throat. The effort hurt.  
  
Harry shaded his eyes with a shaking hand. The sun was hot. Too hot. His face felt like it was on fire. His teeth chattered involuntarily. Strange, to be cold and hot at the same time. Strange…  
  
His eyes opened, protesting at the harsh treatment. Green and purple dots swam across the white ceiling above him. Or was it below him? Harry couldn't be quite sure.  
  
*I'm sideways, * Harry realized after a moment. That was odd. His feet dangled off the side of his bed; his head wasn't even on the pillow. He had slept sideways on the bed, and on top of his sheets at that.  
  
*Why didn't I take my glasses off? *  
  
It took a moment to remember. Hedwig hooted softly from her perch across the room.  
  
Harry clenched his teeth as he propped himself up on his elbows and tried to sit up. That and trying to battle the fresh waves of nausea and dizziness that were attacking him… Harry only hoped he didn't slide off the bed onto the floor. He didn't know what he'd do then.  
  
Harry somehow managed to turn himself around so that his head was in its proper place. He lifted his feet with much effort and placed them beside the two parcels still unwrapped at the foot of his bed. They would have to wait for now. Harry didn't even have the strength to get himself under the covers.  
  
He turned his head slowly towards his bedside table. The clock read six oh seven in the morning. The rain had stopped, as the fresh sunlight was so painfully showing him. Harry lay on his back for a moment, staring at the ceiling and shivering violently. He groaned aloud at the tiny aches and pains that jabbed at him from all angles and made him feel a thousand years old.  
  
Something depressed the mattress next to his head. He turned laboriously and looked. It was Hedwig. He reached up with a trembling hand and stroked her feathers.  
  
"Hi," he croaked. She hooted softly and nipped his finger with her beak. Harry frowned and looked around the room. "Where's Pig? And the other owl?"  
  
She hooted again and turned her white head to the door. Harry noticed it was ajar. How three owls had managed to open a door in the middle of the night without waking anyone was beyond him, but reflecting upon it hurt his head even more. He only hoped they hadn't woken the Dursley's in the process; though come to think of it, Harry was sure he would have heard from them by now if they had.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position and propped himself up against the headboard with his pillow. He pulled the blankets up over his legs and around his waist, and reached to the end of the bed to retrieve his other presents.  
  
The first one was from Hermione; it had a letter inside it.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Happy Birthday! I hope you are well.  
  
(Harry laughed derisively.)  
  
I am having a most lovely time at Victor's this summer,  
  
he said to say hello. I've been to two of his games so far,  
  
and he really is excellent at Quiddich. He reminds me so  
  
much of you. I thought of you when he did the Wronski  
  
Feint at his second game.  
  
(Harry noticed, with a weak smile, that Hermione was now taking great care to spell Quiddich terms correctly.)  
  
He helped me pick this out for you, as I am not much  
  
of a Quiddich player. He says it can't be used in real  
  
games, but it's perfect for practice or if you want to play  
  
in the evening. I won't say anymore. There should be  
  
instructions inside.  
  
I'm coming home in one more week, and then I'm  
  
going to meet you and Ron in Diagon Alley. See you  
  
then!  
  
Love from,  
  
Hermione  
  
P.S. Guess what? I'm a prefect! I got the letter a week  
  
ago! I guess they send the letters out early to notify us,  
  
the owl came right to the Krum's house in Bulgaria! I  
  
don't think Ron's too thrilled though.  
  
Harry laughed weakly before opening the present inside. He gasped when he saw it.  
  
"Wow, Hermione!" he whispered.  
  
It was a snitch. A real golden, walnut sized snitch. Harry hardly dared to believe it. It was sealed very tightly in a wooden box with a small window in front; he could see it sitting very still, the sunlight glinting off it's shiny wings. For a moment he considered opening it, but shuddered at the thought of a magical golden-winged ball flying about number four Privet Drive.  
  
A small purple booklet was attached to the back of the box. Harry flipped through it (pausing occasionally to close his eyes and relieve his aching head) and found that this snitch was different because unlike standard snitches, it did not repel charms to summon it back to the wand holder or glow in the dark. Harry had a sudden image of a glowing walnut with wings zooming down Privet Drive in the middle of the night right into his bedroom window. The thought was very amusing.  
  
Harry reached for the letter; his heart gave a jump when he saw who it was from. His fingers trembled as he tore open the envelope and unfolded the parchment. He ignored his headache and read:  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Happy Birthday! I apologize for not being able  
  
to write you sooner, but as you must know I have been  
  
busy on a mission for Dumbeldore. You'll be happy to  
  
know that I am now safely hidden at Lupin's and plan  
  
to stay here for some time. Though I must ask you  
  
not to owl me here unless it is of the utmost importance.  
  
Send a reply with Tamerin; I'll look forward to  
  
hearing from you.  
  
I hope the muggles are treating you right.  
  
Sirius  
  
Harry smiled, extremely relieved at hearing from his godfather at last. He had been worried about him, what would happen if he was seen by the muggles or captured by Death Eaters or worse… the dementors…  
  
Harry supposed that Tamerin was the name of the old owl that had come with Pigwidgeon. It was a shame they had left already. Harry suspected that Sirius had been as worried about him as he had about Sirius, and wondered what he would think when Tamerin returned without a letter. Why hadn't he forced himself to stay awake a bit longer?  
  
Maybe it was all for the better though. Much like the Weasleys, Harry knew that Sirius would worry if Harry wrote to him about being ill ~ Harry wondered if the convicted murderer would not come marching straight up to Privet Drive to get him. And the thought of giving Sirius the flu…  
  
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream from downstairs, followed by a small explosion downstairs that he supposed was his Uncle Vernon. He suddenly felt a small chill of foreboding when he heard someone come thundering up the stairs.  
  
His door was flung open to reveal his uncle, his face purple and his nostrils flaring. It would have been a comical sight were it not so frightening.  
  
"So…" he growled through clenched teeth.  
  
Harry did not reply. He clenched his teeth and stifled a cough.  
  
"Do you know," panted Uncle Vernon, "What your aunt found * in the sink * below the kitchen window just now?"  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
His uncle held something up between his thumb and finger, seething with fury.  
  
A large, brown feather. An owl feather.  
  
Harry gulped.  
  
A/N: I'm sorry for leaving it here, but this chapter was getting long too. PLEASE keep reviewing, I really appreciate the reviews you have posted so far KEEP IT UP! 


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters associated with him. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. They just amuse me.  
  
Later Harry supposed that Aunt Petunia had left the window over the kitchen sink open for some obscure Aunt Petunia reason. Pigwidgeon and Tamerin, seeing the opportunity, had flown through it and returned to the sky while they all slept. This was all very well except for the annoying ~ and in Harry's case potentially dangerous ~ habit that all birds had of occasionally losing their feathers, usually at very inconvenient times. Tamerin (Harry assumed it was Tamerin because Hedwig's feathers were white and the feather was about as long as Pigwidgeon was tall) had maybe brushed up against the window sill or the edge and dropped a feather ~ right into Aunt Petunia's kitchen sink.  
  
None of this crossed Harry's mind, however, as he watched his Uncle's face grow more purple than he had ever seen in his entire life (which, on reflection, was saying something). Harry forgot about his headache and virtually every other complaint as he watched his uncle with increasing fear. At this point Harry would not have been surprised if steam had begun to stream from Uncle Vernon's nostrils as it does on an enraged bull in most muggle cartoons. He clutched Sirius's letter tightly, as though thinking it would shield him from a sudden attack.  
  
Uncle Vernon started forward, his large meaty hands held out as though ready to wrap themselves around Harry's throat. Harry gulped again.  
  
"What-" he hissed, "were- you- *thinking! *"  
  
"I didn't *do* anything!" Harry began hoarsely, "I fell asleep, and the window was closed so-"  
  
Uncle Vernon cut him off by slapping him so hard across the face that Harry's glasses slipped. He turned his head and refused to look his uncle in the eye, unwilling to let the beefy man see the sudden tears forming in his eyes, out of both pain and exhaustion. It had been a very long time since his uncle had actually hit him like that. Sure, it used to be one of Uncle Vernon's favorite hobbies to threaten his nephew with a beating he would never forget, but very rarely was it actually done. Perhaps he was afraid of what the neighbors would say if they heard; perhaps he thought that wizards somewhere were watching the house for exactly this sort of thing, waiting to swoop down on the entire family. But that didn't seem to matter now. A rage that Harry thought was a bit over the top for something as trivial as a feather was brewing in Uncle Vernon's beady eyes. Harry braced himself for another attack.  
  
"What's that in your hand?" Uncle Vernon demanded sharply.  
  
Harry looked at the piece of parchment clutched in his hand.  
  
"Letter from Sirius," he said simply.  
  
Harry forced himself to look into his Uncle's face, and was pleased to see some of the purple fading into white.  
  
"Your godfather?"  
  
Harry nodded. But he noticed that the mention of his godfather was not having nearly the effect that it had the previous summer. Uncle Vernon seemed torn between inexpressible rage and a quickly fading fear of a wizard he did not know. Harry said nothing, knowing that by keeping silent he could better avoid the terrible beating his uncle was certainly very keen on giving him.  
  
"Now you listen to me," said Uncle Vernon, "I've let you get away with a lot more than I should have this year and last, and godfather or not, I'll not tolerate any sign of your… abnormality outside this room ~ do you understand me?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"One more, boy… just one more… put another toe out of line and you'll get the stuffing knocked out of you. I mean it this time… one more thing, boy, and your own godfather won't recognize you."  
  
Harry took his uncle's words very seriously. He didn't know what had gotten into him this summer, but decided that perhaps it would be good to lay low for a while. He looked at Hedwig after Uncle Vernon had left and breathed a very small sigh of relief.  
  
"That," he croaked, "was pure luck."  
  
Hedwig hooted in reply.  
  
Harry decided that the best way to avoid the Dursleys was to go for another very long walk. He found himself seated on a rock in a park some two blocks away, thinking dully of his friends and wondering what they were doing now. Harry hoped, if somewhat darkly, that they were having a much better holiday than he was.  
  
Harry coughed; the unseasonably cold summer air cut through his lungs like a knife every time he took a breath, but he did not want to return to the Dursleys house any sooner than he had to. He knew that all he had to do was send Hedwig to Ron and they would come and pick him up right away. But seven people, not including himself, together in one house… Harry could only imagine the chaos should they all catch his flu. He did owe Ron a reply… but how best to phrase his problem without worrying them all? Mrs. Weasley would just make a fuss ~ she'd been doing that anyway for ages ~ and insist that he needed the best care available.  
  
Harry watched an old man with a black umbrella stroll by. The wind was pretty fierce, blowing small drops of water left from last nights rain off the leaves. He shivered, wishing he had anything besides Dudley's old sweatshirt to protect him from the cold.  
  
*Happy Birthday, Harry, * he thought dully. He leaned back against the wet tree trunk behind him and unintentionally fell into a restless sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: (Must I go through this every time?) No, I am not J.K. Rowling. No, I do not own anyone associated with Harry Potter. Yes, I do enjoy using them.  
  
Harry opened his eyes sometime later and noted with a jolt that the sun had positioned itself in a completely different place in the sky from where he had last seen it. He didn't have a watch anymore (his had stopped running after he wore it while swimming to the bottom of the giant lake outside Hogwarts the previous year), but figured it must be past lunch time. He clambered to his feet, holding onto the tree trunk for support.  
  
Harry ventured forward a couple of steps and winced as his insides lurched.  
  
*Oh, please, * he begged his stomach silently, *Please, let me make it home. * He wondered for a grim second what would happen should he pass out and/or become violently ill right here in front of everyone. The Dursleys would probably disown him. Not that that was a bad thing.  
  
The short trip back to the Dursley's felt longer than he had ever walked in his life, partially because with every passing car or pedestrian he would put a shaking hand to his mouth and pray to whoever could hear him that he wouldn't get sick all over the sidewalk.  
  
Not wanting to arouse any more trouble with the Dursleys, Harry removed his wet and muddy sneakers in the doorway and silently implored that the bathroom be empty. It was. The fates were obviously feeling sorry for him.  
  
After heaving himself practically inside out, Harry was barely able to make it back to his room and collapse on the bed. It was than that he remembered he still hadn't opened Sirius's present. His stomach flip- flopped threateningly when he found it to be a box of chocolate frogs, however, and Harry quickly shoved it away.  
  
Harry's illness showed no sign of relent over the next few days. That evening he was hardly able to slip into his pajamas, and by the next morning he could not move at all. He noticed, when he had the strength to string two thoughts together, that the pain had lessened from his head and centered in upon his chest. This was not a good sign. He remembered… someone… saying something about the flu turning into pneumonia if not treated right… but he couldn't remember who. He wondered how sick he would have to get before the Dursley's would finally call a doctor. If they would ever go to that trouble for him. The never had. But, then again, he couldn't remember any illness he'd had getting this serious before.  
  
Harry never did find out how many days had elapsed before he awoke late one night to a sharp pinch on his ear. He awoke with a groan that almost immediately dissolved into a terrible coughing fit. Each cough scoured his throat and chest like a knife; he gasped for breath after it was over and clutched his chest as though trying to remove the hippogriff that was most surely sitting on it.  
  
Something was tapping on the window, trying to get in. Harry reached a trembling hand for his glasses. It was Pigwidgeon. Hedwig flew back across the room to her cage ~ it was she who had awoken him ~ and hooted indignantly at the unpleasant intrusion.  
  
*I never did write to Ron, * he remembered with a twinge of guilt. He grasped the wooden bedpost with both hands and heaved himself laboriously to his feet. His knees shook terribly as he leaned heavily upon the bed for support.  
  
Harry knew the attempt to pry open his window would be in vain, so he took his chances that the Dursley's were asleep, pulled on his black cloak and slowly inched out of his room into the hall. Harry was relieved to see it dark and empty. Every step was slow and deliberate; after every second step he found himself forced to stop and catch his breath.  
  
By the time the poor boy reached the stairs his world had begun to spin wildly ~ the floor tilted sharply in one direction and another. Harry clung to the railing as one would to the side of a ship that had begun to pitch and rock in a fierce hurricane. He held on more to avoid slipping and waking the Dursleys than in fear of hurting himself. Though he figured that at this point one would not come without the other.  
  
Harry nearly fell down the front steps and lay on his back on the wet grass, gasping and coughing and struggling to breathe. The daggers were back inside his chest, slicing him up alive from the inside out ~ the weight on his chest was not this time a hippogriff but certainly a dragon.  
  
The chills were back as well. The sharp air pushed the knives even harder into his lungs; the dew on the grass dampened his clothes and stung his cheeks. Harry shivered so violently he could have been mistaken by any passers-by for a child in the midst of a seizure.  
  
Pigwidgeon must have heard him, for a moment later Harry felt his minuscule beak and tiny claws nicking his face. Harry reached up to take him in a shaking hand.  
  
From Harry's position on the grass he could see very easily into the window of the Dursley's living room. Never had he suddenly regretted that fact more than now, for logically anyone looking from the inside out of the same window would have a very good view of a skinny, dark haired boy in a black cloak lying on the grass holding an owl no bigger than a tennis ball in one hand. And that's exactly what the large, purple faced man in his nightcap was seeing now. One look at his uncle's face and Harry knew he was in trouble.  
  
(A/N: I very seriously considered stopping here but that's the same type of place that Ch. 3 ends, so I decided to continue. He he, aren't I evil?)  
  
Harry closed his eyes and didn't even bother to fight back. He knew he was in for the worst beating of a lifetime, but the numbing pain and his clouded thoughts would not allow him the strength to be afraid. Strong ~ painfully strong ~ hands lifted him roughly by his shoulders and forced him up the steps and through the door. Just before they disappeared inside Harry thought he caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes watching himself from some bushes in the lawn, but in the seconds that followed he was sure he had imagined them.  
  
Someone threw him roughly to the floor. Harry noticed that he was no longer holding Pigwidgeon, and wondered dully if the tiny owl had the sense to fly away as far and as fast as he could. Harry certainly would in his position.  
  
Uncle Vernon was so angry he couldn't speak.  
  
Harry saw for a second those tiny beady eyes, and the insane glint in them told him to be scared, that he would not escape now, that he was in over his head this time. But all he heard was the earsplitting roar of rage and the swoosh of something being whipped through the air before he was hit hard on his temple with some sort of stick. His glasses cracked and landed, broken on the floor some two feet away. He looked up to see his maniac uncle holding Dudley's Smeltings stick high over his head in a rage even Harry had never seen him in before, screaming incoherent words for all of Britain to hear. Then came the crash of something like breaking glass and a shrill scream from Aunt Petunia before the stick met its mark again. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and embraced the warm blackness that engulfed him. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU for all the reviews. You people have NO IDEA how much they mean to me (okay, maybe you do… but that's not my point). See this is the first thing I've ever written that people that I have never met have read. So it's REALLY important to me what you think!  
  
Ped: Sorry I didn't get to reply sooner, I posted Ch. 4 and 5 before I saw your reviews. Anyway, yes Harry's illness is a common one. He has the flu which, (as I have been shown the hard way… twice) very easily turns into pneumonia. Muggle illness, yes, but I for one do not envy him in any way.  
  
Lin-z: Actually if you read over the last line of chapter 5 you'll see that someone already HAS come to save him… no more said there. Read on and see. But first I want to thank you for reviewing (4 times!!! :D ) and *gasp * I am on your fave stories!?!?!?!? That is one of the coolest things in the world. 'Specially cuz I have read Gryffindor's Secret which, (am I correct?) that you wrote and I LOVE it.  
  
Anyway…  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, I never HAVE owned Harry Potter and I never WILL own Harry Potter. He belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I just get random inspirations at the dumbest possible times and like to have fun with them. No infringement is intended.  
  
Somewhere the black mist surrounding him parted, and through it Harry could hear hushed whispers. They sounded afraid, and far away like a soothing breeze teasing the leaves in a forest miles away. Harry didn't want to reach them, for he knew that the pain would return as soon as he left his sanctuary in the darkness. So he stayed where he was, quiet and very, very still.  
  
A hand reached down from beyond the darkness and pulled him up. The voices grew louder and clearer as he rose through the fog, but with them came the pain. Deep, sharp throbs in the side of his head and an awful soreness weighing in and upon his chest. His breath came in short gasps for air that tore open his throat and ripped apart his lungs. Had he the strength to he would have writhed in pain, but as it was he was only able to produce a weak and raspy groan.  
  
The voices immediately stopped.  
  
"Is he waking up?" A man's voice. Whose? Harry's mind was not working properly enough to place the sound with a name.  
  
"I think so." Another man. He, too, was familiar. The sound of his voice was comforting.  
  
"Harry?" A third man. His voice was closer, but quieter and gentler. "Harry, can you hear me?" The voice was soothing; the man whispered as though taking great care not to hurt him. It was from that that Harry realized that these men must be wizards.  
  
He tried to answer. Nothing came out his mouth but another raspy moan that sent him into a furious fit of excruciating coughs.  
  
A hand came to his forehead and pushed his sweaty bangs from his eyes. Harry turned away; the hand was cold. It quickly withdrew.  
  
"Here, give him this." One of the other voices ~ was it the first or the second? Harry couldn't remember.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"It's just water."  
  
"Here, Harry," said the closest voice after Harry stopped coughing, "Drink this." Strong but gentle arms helped him sit up, taking great care to support his head completely.  
  
Something cold pressed to his lips. Harry drank greedily, savoring the cool liquid as it calmed the flames in his throat and soothed him from the inside.  
  
"There you go, Harry," whispered the voice in his ear, "Its going to be all right."  
  
"Harry," said one of the other voices as Harry felt himself being returned to the cool grass, "Don't try to talk. Can you show me where he hit you?"  
  
Harry's hand very slowly moved to his temple.  
  
"Your head?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"Anywhere else?"  
  
Harry shook his head slowly. It hurt. He groaned in agony.  
  
There was a sharp intake of breath near his head.  
  
"Are you in pain?" asked the voice that had questioned him.  
  
He nodded as lightly as he could.  
  
"I'll kill him," said the close voice gruffly, "Hit him with his own stick. Teach him to try that again."  
  
"Now, now, that's all very well," said a man who, judging by how far away he sounded, seemed to be standing up, "But as the Ministry only knows I'm here, it will become much more complicated if we harm them now. Right now we need to get Harry out of here."  
  
"Are any more of them on their way?"  
  
"No. I had my son Percy contact them just before I apparated, so they would know in case I needed to use magic while I was here. Harry never responded to my youngest son's last letter. Molly's been so worried. We sent him another owl saying I would be arriving tonight. I'm not sure if he got it or not."  
  
"Let me take him, Arthur," said the closest voice. "I'm his godfather, I have a responsibility for the boy. I'm not going to leave him now."  
  
Sirius. Harry smiled weakly.  
  
"Where will you go? Molly's been almost in tears these past few days- "  
  
"He can come to my place," said the last voice, "That's were he's been staying, anyway. Molly and Ron can come visit him anytime they like."  
  
"Molly… knows about me… right?" said Sirius cautiously.  
  
"Yes, she does. She and Ron and I," replied Arthur.  
  
"Then that settles it," by this time Harry had worked out the third voice to be a man he knew named Remus Lupin. "Sirius, take him on Buckbeak. I'll get his stuff and bring it."  
  
"Do you want help?"  
  
"Just gathering it, thank you. I can shrink it and put it in my pocket before I disapparate."  
  
"Harry," said Sirius quietly, "I'm going to have to lift you. Is that all right?"  
  
Harry nodded weakly. He pried his eyes open and met the gaunt, waxy face he knew as his godfather. Worry lines were at the moment crossing his brow. They relaxed when he saw Harry's eyes open.  
  
"It'll be all right," he said, "We're going to get a doctor for you. An old classmate of ours ~ and your parents. She'll come to Remus's so I can stay by your side the whole time."  
  
Harry smiled.  
  
"Thanks," he managed to gasp. He almost automatically began to cough again.  
  
He felt himself rise off the ground into his Sirius's sheltering arms.  
  
"Hush, now," whispered the voice after the terrible coughing had subsided, "Don't say anything ~ good lord, you're burning up with fever ~ just try to sleep."  
  
Harry relaxed. He gave a small, contented sigh, closed his eyes and let himself drift off, safe in Sirius's protective embrace. 


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any other characters in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm just using them for my own purposes. I am making no money off of this. No infringement is intended.  
  
Blood red flames began to creep from the black fog and lick his bare feet. Harry cried out in pain, and they grew in intensity. Walls of fire leapt up around him and encompassed him in their suffocating heat. Harry covered his face with his hands, trying to block the fire from his eyes and nose and mouth. But he could not prevent the thick smoke from reaching with its spindly black fingers through his chest and squeezing every last breath of air from his lungs.  
  
Harry gasped and tried to run. He only reached a couple of feet before something reached out and grabbed him by the elbow. Something bony. Something with long, thin fingers like a skeleton. Something strong.  
  
It flung him off his feet. Harry yelled again as he fell through the fire to land with a sickening thud on the hard ground. He peeked upwards through a crack in his fingers. A stick, a long, black, knobby stick was slicing through the air towards his head. He tried to roll out of the way. He heard it strike the ground just inches from his face as he lay on his back, gasping for breath.  
  
"Help," he rasped through the crackling flames, "Someone help me."  
  
Two bony hands gripped his shoulders tightly and shook him. Harry cried out again and grabbed one by the wrist, trying in vain to pry off its vice-like grip.  
  
"Harry!" hissed a voice, "Harry!"  
  
Harry opened his eyes to find himself face to face with the most terrifying skull he had ever seen. Every inch was black, charred by the fire, except for two wide, livid crimson colored eyes set in its head. It had no nose, but two thin slits as flat as a snake's above a lipless jaw with sharp, black fangs.  
  
"No!" Harry's shout became a half-croaked whisper over the roaring fire, "Get away… get off me!"  
  
To Harry's surprise, the hands abruptly released him. The skull-like visage sat back and stared at him for a moment; it was impossible to tell if the black fangs were smiling or watching him with a malicious sort of expression.  
  
"Harry," it hissed evilly, "Don't you recognize me?"  
  
Harry stared. He didn't know what this creature wanted, or what it planned to do with him, but he knew that he needed to get out of here. Sirius. He needed to find Sirius.  
  
He sat bolt upright and tried to climb to his feet; the hands grabbed him again and would not let him stand. He fought. He struggled. But the hands were far too strong.  
  
"No!" he rasped, "Let me go! Please… let me go! Someone help… please…" His own words trailed off as he lost his breath to a fierce coughing fit.  
  
Another pair of hands took hold of his shoulders. Harry gasped, his eyes wide and staring, at the second hideous skull that had materialized beside the first. They were attempting to force him down, back to the ground… their hold of him was strong… he couldn't break free…  
  
A third skeleton-like creature appeared behind the first two. And a fourth. They surrounded him. Hundreds of fanged black skeletons grabbed him and forced him back down into the fire, despite his struggles. Harry heard them hissing to each other; the words echoed and reverberated meaninglessly inside his head.  
  
"Hold him!"  
  
"He's delirious…"  
  
"…got to give him this…"  
  
"Harry, lay down!"  
  
"Stop fighting, me!"  
  
"…not you're fault…"  
  
"…he's hallucinating…"  
  
His world spun… the flames were roaring around him louder than ever, their heat still unbearable… they had him flat on his back now… someone was forcing something to his lips… a goblet of some sort. Harry turned his head away. They were trying to poison him; he would have nothing of it. Hands were grasping every inch of him so tightly he felt as though he had been placed under the full body bind. He continued to struggle against the bony hands that held his head and forced an icy goblet to his mouth. He clenched his teeth in defiance, still determined to fight. But the goblet was cold, such a wonderful cold… so terribly inviting…  
  
A hand forced his mouth open and poured it's icy contents inside. Harry swallowed out of pure instinct, forgetting everything else and sighing in pure, contented bliss as he felt the freezing potion run down his throat and take him over. It extinguished the suffocating flames and began to flow through his bloodstream, the loveliest sensation he could imagine.  
  
Harry felt himself slowly begin to freeze from the inside out, thus the goblet was removed from his lips and the hands faded away. The ground was so much softer now… so terribly comfortable…  
  
Hushed voices surrounded his bed. No longer the evil hisses that had trapped him inside a horrible nightmare, but comforting whispers that sheltered and calmed him merely by their presence.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and squinted heavily. The only parts of his body he had the strength to move were those on his face; the massive weight on his chest made moving and breathing so difficult.  
  
The area around him was much more heavily blurred than it would normally have been without his glasses. He was able to make out a brownish haze, but nothing else. He opened his mouth and tried to talk, but no sound would come from his lips. Harry couldn't even manage a weak groan, more or less a coherent word.  
  
A pale sort of shadow moved in his peripheral vision. Harry had just time to feel a soft hand brush his forehead tenderly. A quiet voice, heavily laden with fear and concern, whispered a word that he did not recognize to be his own name before he let himself fall into the sweet tranquillity of sleep without dreams.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry didn't know how long he had been floating blissfully in the painless sea of black, but it was with a most unpleasant lurch that he found himself atop a hippogriff ~ was it Buckbeak? ~ soaring over an unfamiliar landscape into the sunrise.  
  
For what may have been close to ten minutes they flew. Buckbeak seemed to know where he was headed, which was fine with Harry. He spent most of the time admiring the purple mountains in the horizon to his left and the lush green meadows they flew over, and marveling at the fact that the steadily climbing sun did not burn his eyes. He was rather enjoying himself, awkward as it was to ride a Hippogriff, until his eyes fell upon an old, dilapidated mansion growing ever larger. It lurked unpleasantly in the shadows, and as they drew nearer Harry noticed that Buckbeak was beginning his descent.  
  
Harry ducked as low as he possibly could as they flew through an open window on the second floor, but to his surprise they passed through quite easily.  
  
He landed on his feet silently on the carpeted floor. Buckbeak had gone. A fire in a large hearth lit the large sitting room very dimly; the sun seemed to have disappeared and gave no comforting light through the large windows.  
  
Two robed figures stood in the center of the room around what seemed to be a cauldron. There was no fire beneath it. One, tall, thin and sinister-looking even in his silhouette had his back to him. Even without seeing the man's face, Harry knew who he was and felt a shiver of dread run up and down his spine. The other man was shorter, fatter, and had a balding head and watery eyes Harry would recognize anywhere. A man called Wormtail responsible for his godfather's incarceration.  
  
Weather or not either of the two men could see him was made irrelevant by the fact that both of them were so immersed in the contents of the cauldron that neither of them bothered to look up. Harry noticed, with a grim satisfaction, that Wormtail appeared very frightened indeed. Though perhaps this was not as satisfying as it could have been considering Wormtail very rarely looked anything *but * very frightened.  
  
The tall man, the dark wizard responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong in Harry's life, was the first to speak.  
  
"Do you know what this means, Wormtail?"  
  
His voice was high-pitched and very cold. Harry shivered.  
  
"Y-yes… of course, M-master, it means… it… I mean, n-no, Master, I d- don't kn… yes I…"  
  
"It means," his sinister master cut off the string of babble with nothing short of an evil hiss, "That fortune has finally begun to favor Lord Voldemort. And do you know why?"  
  
Wormtail did not answer at first. He seemed to be thinking hard about the response that would avoid the most pain.  
  
"I… I d-don't know, Master."  
  
"Harry Potter has left his sanctuary. He now resides within the care of his muggle-loving godfather and his friends. He is ill, very ill, that is quite clear. Not my doing, of course, but fortunate indeed."  
  
"Y-yes, Master. V-very fortunate."  
  
"I *could * potentially do great harm to the boy now, if he were not under the constant supervision of no less than four or five powerful witches and wizards every second… but I will get around them. Have you figured out how, Wormtail?"  
  
Wormtail seemed frightened beyond speech. He shook his head.  
  
"I am going to send a servant of mine whom I know could very easily slip into the house undetected. Someone who is very effective, oh very effective indeed, at disguising themselves. Someone who can discreetly travel to the werewolf's house and perform a task I could not without being noticed. Do you know who that servant is?"  
  
Wormtail's mouth opened and shut; he was unable to form words. He continued to shake his head vigorously, expression set as though he would rather not know the answer."  
  
"That servant, is *you, * Wormtail," Voldemort ignored Wormtail's sputter of protest, "*You* will travel to Harry Potter's new sanctuary, enter unnoticed as the rat we all know you are, find a wand ~ any wand will do ~ and start a fire. The fire needs to be in a different room of course, so that by the time they notice it will not be extinguished easily and will drive them all out to where I can finally lay my hands on the boy. Simple enough, I imagine for even the likes of you to carry out. Have I made myself clear?"  
  
"B-b-but, M-master… I-"  
  
"Apparently not," said Voldemort, sounding very cold, "What about my plan do you not understand, Wormtail?"  
  
"I-I understand p-perfectly, M-master, but I-I d-don't think I can-"  
  
"Excuse me, Wormtail, but I believe I heard you just contradicting a direct order given to you. Certainly I must be wrong, because no servant of Lord Voldemort, contradicts his master, right, Wormtail?"  
  
There was a steady silence in the room for a full thirty seconds.  
  
"You listen to me closely, Wormtail," Voldemort's high-pitched voice had transformed into a cold, solid hiss that bore it's way into Harry's heart, "You *will * find Potter. You *will * do what I've told you. And you will *not * fail me this time. I cannot tolerate any more mistakes from you, are we clear on that point?"  
  
Wormtail nodded, every inch of him that Harry could see trembling violently.  
  
"Perhaps we are. However, maybe to prove how little tolerance I have for error… yes, I believe this is in store… remember, Wormtail, why it is that servants do what I ask of them, and they do it right, and without question…" Voldemort raised his wand high above his head and pointed it directly at Wormtail, "Crucio!"  
  
Wormtail screamed. Harry felt a white-hot, searing pain rip up through the scar on his forehead. He clapped his hand to his head and cried out as the scene around him faded back into prescious black…"  
  
A/N: Sorry it took so long, I was in New Jersey with some friends. I hope I'll get the next chapter up soon but I can't promise when. Keep checking back and remember to please review (constructive criticism is good) because I really appreciate them all! I'll answer any questions you ask. THANK YOU! 


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters associated with him. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I am not making any money off of this. No infringement is intended.  
  
1 "Harry! Harry! Wake up!"  
  
2 "It's all right, Harry. It's just a dream."  
  
3 "Wake up, come now, it's okay. You're all right now."  
  
From somewhere far away Harry heard his own raspy groan. Hands shook him violently; voices he knew but did not have the strength to recognize called out to him, bringing him away from the horrible imprisonment in the Riddle house. The hippogriff was back on his chest, along with a sense of urgency he couldn't shake. They had to leave… leave now so that… that guy… with the worm tail… so he wouldn't… he wouldn't be…  
  
Confusing thoughts whirled around inside his head. Nothing made sense. Wormtail. That was the only coherent thought he could grasp. Something about Wormtail. They were in danger.  
  
Harry tried to open his mouth to say something, but his lips refused to move the way he wanted them to. His teeth were chattering so hard that he couldn't speak. Cold… why was it so cold?  
  
He began to shiver. The movement triggered a painful coughing fit. Short spasms jerked through his weak body as Harry coughed as though he would never stop.  
  
Harry gasped for breath every chance he got and ended the awful fit with a pain-filled moan. Whispers reappeared all around him ~ someone pulled a hot blanket up to his chin and stroked his fevered forehead and cheek softly.  
  
"It's all right," said a motherly voice he remembered from… somewhere. "It's all right, Harry dear. You're safe now."  
  
Harry would have smiled had he the strength. The voice was warm and comforting, like a fresh bowl of hot soup on a freezing midwinter day.  
  
"Go back to sleep now, Harry," said a man's voice. It was gentle and soft like the woman's, but held a note of frightened concern to it. "Get some rest. We'll be right here when you wake up."  
  
Harry could not help but obey. Sleep took away the awful pains and infirmities of being so ill, and he gladly surrendered himself to its warm embrace.  
  
* * *  
  
The snow billowed around him in clouds of white so thick Harry could barely see his hand in front of his face. He was cold, so frightfully cold. The wind whistled angrily in his ears and stung his face. Harry staggered against its brute force through the snow and ice. He looked up suddenly to the sound of someone calling his name far away.  
  
"Harry… Harry… Harry…"  
  
The voice was familiar, and Harry knew that wherever it was lay shelter from the cold. He could find sanctuary in that voice. He turned around on the spot, trying to pinpoint the direction it was coming from.  
  
A shadow. Harry gasped when he saw it. A dark blue silhouette walking along the horizon. Its form was sinister and evil looking; Harry knew right away that this was not a creature to cross. He turned around, thinking only of getting as far away from the shadow as possible, only to spot another. It was closer, walking so that Harry could see its profile perfectly. Its elbows, knees and the top of its heads were pointed, its entire form smooth and yet jagged like ice.  
  
Another one ~ why had it taken him until now to notice them? ~ headed right in his direction. It's livid scarlet eyes narrowed upon spotting him and it's mouth twisted into a sinister smile. Harry cried out and tried to run the other way. He staggered in the knee-deep snow and several times collapsed to his hands and knees. It was then that he remembered he was sick.  
  
Several of the ice creatures seemed to reach him at once. They jumped on him and tried to force him to the ground. Harry yelped with both pain and fright, trying with every ounce of strength he possessed to escape their grasp.  
  
One of them lifted him effortlessly off the ground by his upper arms and pinned him back against something hard ~ a glacier? Harry gasped as he felt the wind knocked out of him, but continued to struggle helplessly against the monster's clutches.  
  
It grinned at him, an evil grin full of icicle teeth and deep red eyes that clashed horribly with the cruel blue-white ice that was its face and hands. It drew back a jagged arm and plunged its sharp fingers into Harry's lung. He tried to scream but succeeded only in gasping and wheezing from the pain and the lack of air.  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and felt more hands grab him and force his head back. They were going to do it again; they were going to make him drink that stuff… A goblet was once again forced to his lips, but this time the cold was uninviting. He turned his head and tried to spit out the awful potion, but he could do nothing against the freezing elixir that dripped down his throat and froze him from the inside out.  
  
The world began to spin, slowly at first, than gradually began to whip him around so fast the scene changed to darkness before he knew what was happening.  
  
Tired. He was so very tired. Harry lay on his back, staring into the black void high above his head. All he wanted to do was sleep, to surrender himself into the deep slumber and let all his pains wash away. It was so hard to breathe…  
  
"Harry…"  
  
The voice again. It was no closer, but Harry could tell this time exactly where it came from. Someone who loved him very dearly was calling his name above and beyond the black whirlwinds over his head. He would have to fight to get there. He would have to claw his way up and fight the pain and the dizziness in order to reach that voice. And he was so very tired…  
  
*Crash. *  
  
Somewhere with the voice Harry could hear something being knocked over. The sound made him jump and brought the terrifying storm much closer. The voice was nearer too; it's sweet sound still calling to him. He so desperately wanted to reach that voice, but to get there he would have to fight the black winds and he didn't want to fight. Not when he was so tired already.  
  
*Crash. *  
  
The noise brought the black whirlwind so close Harry had to grit his teeth and brace himself against it. Breathing was even harder, the weight on his chest heavier than ever. Harry gasped and coughed and fought for breath over the terrible dizziness that engulfed him.  
  
He could hear more whispers beyond the spinning void, but the comforting voice had gone. Panic soon replaced it. He was alone and fighting to reach the world just beyond the barrier and yet millions of miles away. And he was so tired…  
  
All he wanted to do was sleep. Something from the world beyond had forced him into this awful battle for breath but all he had to do was let go and he would sink down into the beautiful bliss of nothingness and never feel again.  
  
Harry's breath was growing shorter; he could manage nothing more than brief, scared gasps against the daggers that sliced up his lungs from the inside.  
  
He heard a voice, a different woman's voice. He could barely make out her words through the strange echo they sent through his mind.  
  
"Oh, god, we're losing him."  
  
Something began to stir in the outside world. The whispers grew scared, and a man's terrified yell pierced the blackness above.  
  
"Harry? Harry! Harry! Listen to me, Harry! Fight, Harry, fight! Fight it, Harry!"  
  
More voices tore into his little black hole between the outside world and the tempting sleep, and Harry knew what he would have to do.  
  
Harry relaxed and attempted to take a deep breath. But his body would not let him. He began to claw his way up to the voices, concentrating with every fiber in his body upon them. Breathing became harder, the pain worsened with every gasp for breath as his strength began to ebb away. The dull sleep below him faded from its beckoning tranquillity and transformed into a black monster, a terrifying creature with strong arms that pulled him back from the comforting voices. Harry would have screamed in terror had he the strength to. The creature was going to take him… he was helpless against its strong grasp… he could feel his grip begin slipping…  
  
*Fight, Harry fight… *  
  
Harry gritted his teeth and spent the last of his strength trying to climb back to the top. He was so close… the voices were just beyond the barrier… but he wasn't going to make it… the creature dragging him downward was too strong…  
  
Something from the world above grabbed him and pulled him upward through the spinning whirlwind. The barrier vanished with a loud rush like a roar and Harry fell back onto soft sheets. Nothing he had felt before in his life had been so comfortable, so sweet and inviting. Tears began to leak from his eyes, and he took in the sweet air, ignoring the pain it inflicted. He could breathe!  
  
The voices calling his name were so much louder now, but the fear had gone from them. Someone grabbed him and pulled him into a suffocating hug. Shouts and cries from all around welcomed him back into the world of the living. Someone was holding him so tight he was losing his breath again. Harry began to panic. Not breathing meant falling back into the black void, and he knew he could not fight it again.  
  
The arms released him and set his frail body back onto the cool sheets. Everything was so much more real, more distinct. He could hear their tears of joy and basked in the sweetness of it all.  
  
Harry felt someone kiss his forehead ever so lightly. A comforting voice whispered into his ear.  
  
"Welcome back, Harry. You're going to be all right now. You're going to be okay."  
  
A/N: That was kind of confusing, wasn't it? I'm sorry if it was. Please review and feel free to ask questions. I'll answer them if I can, but hopefully many of them will be explained in the upcoming chapters. 


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: Okay, in case no one got it the first eight times, I don't own Harry Potter or anyone associated with him. (Except for Doctor Nora Tallahand, who is, in fact, mine but if anyone would like to use her all you have to do is ask.) Every one else belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm just using them for my own amusement. I am making no money off of it. No infringement is intended.  
  
A/N: Wow! 40 reviews! That is just so cool (considering when I first started posting this I expected about 3 ~ I don't think too highly of my own work).  
  
Me: I'm planning to write an epilogue, and it won't be from Harry's POV. No more said there.  
  
L.B.S and Tiger Lily: Sorry if the last chapter was confusing; hopefully this one will explain things better. Things tend to get confusing when someone's that sick.  
  
Lin-z: Of course he's all right! I don't have the heart to kill Harry Potter. Actually I haven't been that sick before, thank god, but thanks anyway for the comment. Maybe I'll write a separate story… I hadn't thought of it but it's a good idea. Thank you for reviewing so frequently, it's very gratifying.  
  
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Harry let the soft voices wash over him and held tightly to their comforting tones. He concentrated not as much on what they said as to whom they came from. He recognized Mrs. Weasley: sweet and motherly; Sirius: scared and yet comforting; Remus: strong and supportive; and Ron: relived beyond description and… was that a hint of excitement in his voice? And one other voice he didn't know.  
  
Something caught in his chest, and Harry dissolved into another fierce coughing fit. The voices hushed; someone brushed his bangs off his forehead and hissed softly. A goblet was pressed to his lips, and Harry drank the cool water gratefully.  
  
"We're not out of the water yet," said the woman he didn't know, "He's still very, very ill."  
  
Sirius said something in reply, but Harry didn't catch it. Sleep had begun to tug at him again. Harry resisted; he knew that to sleep meant to fall away from the world he had worked so hard to reach, the world where he knew he was loved, knew so many people were there to protect him.  
  
"Harry," said the unfamiliar woman, as though reading his mind, "Harry, you need to rest. Go to sleep, now. It will help you get well."  
  
Harry nodded lightly, sighing in utter relief. Not a dark thought crossed his mind as he let himself fall once again into a dreamless sleep.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry didn't know how he found himself in the Riddle house. He just looked up and suddenly found his feet resting upon the rug in the same room he had been in before. The cauldron still stood in the center, but only one figure accompanied it this time. His bony elbows rested on the rim of the cauldron, his chin sitting on his long, bony fingers. His red eyes were livid as they focused upon whatever lay inside the black cauldron. Harry had not seen Voldemort this angry before.  
  
"Bumbling fool," he hissed quietly.  
  
* * *  
  
Silence greeted Harry when he awoke. Not the eerie type of silence when one knows something is wrong, but the sweet silence that fills a place with consoling solitude and lets one know that everything is right.  
  
Harry opened his eyes for the first time in... how long had it been? There was very little light in the room, but to him that was all the better. Light hurt his sleep-filled eyes.  
  
Harry turned his aching head, remembering the day ~ it seemed like ages ago ~ that he had been lying in the bed at the Dursley's house in almost this same position. But then he had been the only one in the room, and now, sitting in a chair very near his head, was Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"You're awake," she whispered upon seeing him.  
  
Harry squinted; he couldn't see her face very well without his glasses. She carefully placed them on for him, and her smiling face came into focus.  
  
He was in a fairly small room with one window hidden behind faded black curtains and peeling brown paint on all the walls. This must be Lupin's house.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to say something but the weight on his chest made it difficult.  
  
Mrs. Weasley pressed a finger to his lips and hushed him. "Don't speak," she said softly, "You're very ill. Would you like some water?"  
  
Harry nodded gratefully. His throat felt parched and raw, as though someone had forcefully rubbed the inside with sandpaper. Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and whispered something incoherent; the mattress bent and slowly lifted up his head and chest. Mrs. Weasley helped him drink, as his hands were too weak to grasp the goblet tightly.  
  
Hundreds of questions bounced around inside his head. Mrs. Weasley, sensing this, began to speak after she set the goblet down and straightened his mattress.  
  
"Sirius, Ron, Lupin and the doctor are away. They are at the Ministry right now with Arthur, talking to Mr. Fudge." A shadow of distaste crossed her expression at the mention of the Minister of Magic, followed shortly by a small smile. "Peter Pettigrew is with them."  
  
It took a moment for this to sink in.  
  
Mrs. Weasley's smile grew wider upon seeing his shocked expression, "Ron caught him. Yesterday. I'm sure he'll want to tell you all about it. He made a ton of noise in the other room; we were all afraid he was going to wake you. Of course," her face clouded over and she looked away, "He walked in with that rat just as… just as…" Her eyes were suddenly shining; she tried to turn her face away so that Harry wouldn't see.  
  
Harry felt a strange chill.  
  
"I almost died," he whispered hoarsely, "didn't I?"  
  
"You shouldn't be talking, Harry," she said in a strangely toneless voice. "You're too sick."  
  
She rubbed her eyes and turned back to face him. More tears began to replace the old ones as she smoothed his sheets unnecessarily. Harry was reminded of the night a few months ago ~ had it been only a few months? It felt like so much more ~ after he got back from his last encounter with Voldemort and she had stood by his hospital bed in almost the same way.  
  
As if on cue, a sudden *whoosh * from what seemed to be a fire in the next room interrupted them. They heard footsteps and a man with matted black hair that Harry had been waiting to see appeared in the doorway.  
  
"How is h~ Harry!" he spoke gently, though his features lit up and regressed his face about twenty years when he noticed his godson awake. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Harry thought for a moment, trying to figure out how best to assess his situation in as few words as possible. He finally settled on, "I've been better."  
  
Sirius smiled broadly. For a moment he seemed unable to speak.  
  
Another *whoosh * from the next room admitted a tall and gangly boy with red hair and a lot of freckles. He, too entered softly and seemed to light up when he saw Harry.  
  
"Hey, Harry," he said quietly.  
  
"Hi, Ron," Harry rasped.  
  
"How long have you been awake?"  
  
Harry shrugged, "Not long."  
  
"Have you heard? About Pettigrew?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"You know what that means, right?" said Sirius softly.  
  
Harry and Sirius's eyes met. Harry was surprised to see how awkward his godfather suddenly looked.  
  
"You're name's cleared," he replied. He suddenly remembered having this same conversation two years earlier. Did he mean… was it really going to happen this time? It seemed almost too good to be true; Harry didn't want to hold on too tightly to the idea in case he was to be disappointed yet again.  
  
"I told you before," said Sirius, "That if you ever wanted a different- a different home…  
  
Harry gave him an ear-to-ear grin.  
  
"So it's really… you're really free this time?"  
  
"That's right," said a voice from the doorway. Harry looked up and saw his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher standing there. He'd been too distracted to hear the fire roar a third time.  
  
"Hello, Harry," said Remus. "So you've heard?" Harry nodded. "We gave him a drop of Truth Veritaserum, and he admitted everything, right in front of Fudge. Even he can't deny anything now."  
  
"He wasn't too happy about telling the Magical world about You-Know- Who coming back," said Ron, "But Dumbeldore told him-"  
  
"Wait," Harry interrupted him, "Dumbeldore was there?"  
  
Ron nodded, "He and Dad are still there, talking to Fudge about what's going to happen next. But Dumbledore told us that you don't have to go back to the Dursley's after what happened."  
  
"Ever?" Harry asked eagerly.  
  
"Ever." Sirius agreed.  
  
Another *whoosh * from the fireplace and a thin woman in lavender robes stepped into the room. She was very neat pressed, her brown hair pulled back into a French braid, but she wore a warm smile that made Harry like her almost immediately.  
  
"Hello, Harry," she said. Her voice was friendly. Mrs. Weasley stood up so the woman could take her place by the head of the bed. "I'm Dr. Tallahand, but you can call me Nora."  
  
Harry gave her a weak smile.  
  
"So how long has he been awake?" she asked Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"He woke up a few minutes before Sirius got back," the red haired woman replied.  
  
Nora nodded and peered closely into Harry's eyes.  
  
"Does it hurt when you breathe deeply?" she asked him.  
  
Harry tried it and automatically fell into a deep coughing fit. Nora raised the mattress like Mrs. Weasley had and held up the goblet of water for him.  
  
"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" the doctor replied dryly. "Does it hurt to cough?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"What about your chest? Does it hurt?"  
  
"A little," he croaked.  
  
"Your head?"  
  
He shook his head slowly, "Not really."  
  
She nodded and looked at a white band on his wrist, which, he noticed, had his temperature on it as well as some other numbers and symbols he didn't recognize.  
  
"Well," said Nora after a minute of silence, "I must congratulate you, Harry. You have just survived the worst case of pneumonia I have ever seen so far. That and a minor concussion. May I ask you one question, though?"  
  
Harry nodded weakly.  
  
"How did you get pneumonia? It isn't known to just pop up in people."  
  
Harry didn't speak for a second.  
  
"The flu," he said finally, "Everyone in the neighborhood had it. I didn't want to hang around in bed and have to listen to the Dursley's and put up with my cousin, so I went outside a lot. I guess Uncle Vernon hitting me didn't help much, did it?"  
  
Nora shook her head.  
  
"Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, "Why didn't you write to us? We would have come to get you in a second if we'd heard you were sick."  
  
Harry stared down at his sheets, refusing to meet anyone's gaze; "I didn't want to pass it on to all of you."  
  
Ron sighed. "Harry, you prat," he said with gentle exasperation, "You don't think we have a cure for the flu? It's like the Pepperup stuff, it heals you in about a second."  
  
Harry felt his cheeks burn. He continued to stare down at the base of the bed. How could he have been so stupid? Of course the magical world would have a cure for the flu ~ why didn't he realize that before?  
  
"It's all right, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley tenderly, "You're going to be fine, and that's all that matters."  
  
"Unfortunately," said Nora, "What we don't have is a cure for pneumonia. And I can't give you anything for your cough because the Cooling potion we've been giving you for your fever is too strong. It throws off the effects of any other potion taken within twenty-four hours. Even it can only be given once a day." She looked up at Sirius. "I don't want to move him yet. He's still very ill, and he's exhausted. The poor boy's been through a lot these past twenty-four hours. If nothing else happens by tomorrow ~ and I'm sure it won't ~ we can move him then."  
  
Sirius nodded.  
  
"Move me?" said Harry.  
  
"To your new home," said Ron, grinning, "You don't think Dumbeldore or any of us would let you go back to the Dursley's after all that, do you?"  
  
Harry looked at Sirius, who was looking just the slightest bit nervous. Harry smiled at his godfather and was happy to see it returned.  
  
"Do you have a house?" he asked him.  
  
Sirius nodded again, "It was put under control by the ministry after I was arrested," he replied, "But no one's bought it since then, so they could give it back to me with all my property."  
  
"Really?" said Harry, hardly daring to believe it.  
  
"Really." Sirius smiled that age-reducing smile of his, "You get to have a new home, Harry."  
  
Harry beamed, feeling happier than he had in… in a very long time. He suddenly found himself at a loss for words.  
  
"You get to live with me now."  
  
A/N: Okay, I have one chapter to go and an epilogue. Ron's whole deal with Pettigrew will be explained, so don't go away! Hopefully this explained some things, though. Please (at the risk of sounding hopelessly redundant) review and ask any questions you have. 


	10. Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. Much as I wish I did, I don't. I don't own anybody associated with Harry Potter. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I just enjoy writing about them. Please don't sue me because I am not making any money off of this. No infringement is intended.  
  
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Ron was only too happy to tell Harry how he had caught Pettigrew, and quickly launched into the story after the others had left the room  
  
"Well, yesterday I was standing by the bed and I heard this scratching noise behind me, right? So I turned, and I looked, and I saw Scabbers in the corner. I knew it was him because he'd lived in my room for so long, and his ear was all tattered like I remembered, and his paw was missing. I remembered what you told me about Pettigrew cutting off his hand. Then I turned back around so he wouldn't think I had noticed anything unusual, you know? And I waited, and I listened, and then I heard him scurry into the other room. I stood up and left really quietly. You were… you were having some sort of nightmare or something, so mum and Sirius and the others didn't see me get up. I went really quietly into the other room and I saw him… Pettigrew… as a person. He was rummaging around in your trunk, looking for something I think. So I flung open the door, and he saw me, and changed into a rat. But his hand's were still holding on to the sides of the trunk, so he when he changed he ended up on the rim. So I ran over, shoved him inside and locked the door to the trunk so he couldn't get out. Then I went and I found this empty jar that had held Cooling Potion stuff. It was perfect because Nora had put an unbreakable charm on it in case someone dropped it or something like that. Then I unlocked the door to the trunk and opened it, and he scampered out. I chased him around with the jar for a couple of minutes ~ I think I knocked a couple of things over," Ron's ears went slightly pink at this statement, "But I finally caught him and I put him in the jar. When I brought him back in, you were… you were…" he trailed off.  
  
Ron's eyes shifted uncomfortably away from Harry's. Harry could see that he, like the others, was still very shaken up over what had almost happened to his best friend.  
  
"Thanks, Ron," said Harry after a moment of silence.  
  
Ron turned his head back, and Harry gave him a weak smile.  
  
"Good practice for when you're an Auror with the rest of us," he said matter-of-factly.  
  
Ron grinned.  
  
* * *  
  
Neither Sirius nor Remus nor Ron nor Mrs. Weasley left his bedside once after that. Nora had to return to her job at St. Mungo's, as Harry was no longer in any immediate danger. She left with instructions to let Harry get as much sleep as possible and the promise to return in the morning.  
  
Harry frequently drifted off into a calming sleep without Voldemort or those frightening hallucinations to bother him, and always awoke to greet the smiling faces of the people who cared about him most.  
  
Until sometime the next day ~ Harry suspected it to be around mid- afternoon ~ when he opened his eyes to find himself in a foreign-looking four-poster bed with a black and red quilt and beautiful jade curtains. Currently they stood open to reveal a man in a red velvet chair sitting next to the head of Harry's bed.  
  
"Hey, Harry," said Sirius as he slipped Harry's glasses on for him, "How are you feeling?"  
  
Harry shrugged, "A little better. Still tired."  
  
"Would you like something to eat?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
Sirius waved his wand, and a tray with a bowl of soup and a spoon sitting on it lifted themselves up off the table. Harry watched as it hovered for a moment in front of his godfather, who waved his wand again and sent a strange blue light into the bowl.  
  
Upon noticing Harry's puzzled expression Sirius explained, "Mrs. Weasley made this for you before we left Remus's, so I put a charm on it to keep it warm"  
  
He waved his wand as Mrs. Weasley had and lifted Harry's mattress so that he was sitting up.  
  
Harry muttered a weak, "Thanks," as the tray moved itself to just over his lap and hovered a few feet above the sheets. "Sirius," he said suddenly, "What's going to happen now? With Voldemort and all?"  
  
Sirius thought for a moment. "I don't know," he said seriously. "Fudge is still trying to wave away Pettigrew's account of Voldemort's return to power as the ranting of a madman, but even he knows he won't be able to keep up the act much longer. Dumbledore and the rest of us are still doing every thing we can to stop him ~ though I'm not allowed to tell you a lot about that. At least with my name cleared I'll have an easier time helping fight him ~ and protecting you."  
  
A small smile played at the corners of Harry's lips. He stared at the curtains hung over his bed thoughtfully.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Harry tried to find the words to explain what he was feeling. "It's just… weird. That I don't have to go back there anymore."  
  
"The Dursleys?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, all my life ~ even before I knew I was a wizard ~ I'd dreamed about someone coming to take me away from there. But I never really believed it would happen, and now… It's almost too good to be true."  
  
"So you like it? The house? Or, what you can see of it anyway. I'm sorry you can't see more of it, but it's not very big."  
  
Harry nodded. He didn't say it to Sirius, but he would have loved the house had it been nothing but a couple of old crates. Anything was better than Privet Drive.  
  
"Nora says you need to stay in bed for at least another week. After that you can start to walk about a bit, but you need to take it easy. You'll have plenty of time to see the inside of the house, anyway. Welcome to your new home, Harry. You never have to return to the Dursleys again."  
  
Harry smiled. All his life he had dreamed of hearing those very words. Not even Sirius realized how much they meant to him.  
  
"Course," Sirius growled, "You wouldn't be going back there even if I hadn't been freed. Not if I had anything to say about it. Dumbledore's protection there didn't really help much against that godforsaken uncle of your's did it? What I would have done to him if we'd lost you…" Sirius's last words were spoken in an almost frightening growl. His eyes were narrowed; his fists clenched into tight balls that reminded Harry of a large, angry dog.  
  
"Sirius?" he whispered tentatively.  
  
Sirius looked up, and his face softened into a good-natured smile.  
  
"I didn't do anything to them. God knows I should have, but I didn't. I was too worried about you to bother with any of that. Then Arthur Weasley showed up and talked me out of it. Personally, I don't really care about the consequences anymore. I spent twelve unwarranted years in Azkaban, what can they do to me now?"  
  
Sirius's manner was in a way almost frightening, but there was something very comforting about his indignation and desire to retaliate against the Dursley's in Harry's behalf.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a sharp, hacking cough.  
  
Sirius held up a goblet of cool water for him.  
  
"Here, Harry," he said as he removed the soup-laden tray from the bed, "You need to rest. Go to sleep now; I'll be right here when you wake up."  
  
Harry couldn't imagine what could have made that moment any better, apart from being well again. He was home… really home…for the first time in his life, and he had someone who loved him, second best to his own father, to watch over him. The sheets were warm and soft and inviting. Harry was reminded of his bed in Gryffindor tower, and smiled at the thought that he finally had a place to go for Christmas.  
  
The peaceful smile did not leave his lips for a long time after he had fallen fast asleep. 


	11. Epilogue: In which the Dursley's get wha...

DISCLAIMER: Okay, I'm still in high school. I am not J.K. Rowling. I don't own Harry Potter. I don't even look like J.K. Rowling. She and Warner Bros. own Harry Potter and everyone else involved with him (except for Dr. Tallahand, she's my character). I am just using them for my own fun. I am making no money off of this. No infringement is intended.  
  
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"And after recognizing the unfortunate legal misunderstanding, Black's name has been cleared and he is pronounced innocent and absolved of all future punishment. Upon the arrest of his alleged victim, Peter Pettigrew, he was released from the law with full apologies. The hotline for Black has also been disbanded. The Ministry of Education has recently set up a code of…"  
  
Nearly every household in Britain, weather muggle or magical, caught the news of Sirius's freedom from justice. Every family, muggle and magical alike, was torn between relief that threats of an escaped murderer entering their homes had been lifted, and disgust at the inability of the Ministry of Britain (or Magic, as the case may be) to properly convict people.  
  
Every family, that is, except one.  
  
For the first time since perhaps before their son was born, not a single jaw moved in the kitchen of the Dursley family. The three of them stared at the TV screen with identical looks of horror plastered on their faces. Even Dudley froze mid-chew, his bacon halfway up to his fat mouth.  
  
No one so much as twitched for a solid minute.  
  
They might have remained frozen longer, but it was at that exact moment that a knock on the door chose to interrupt the silence and create a larger commotion in the kitchen than perhaps was natural. Both Mr. and Mrs. Dursley jumped to their feet; the former wheeled around and faced the door, his already albino-looking face turning green and his nostrils dilating; the latter gave a shriek to rival your average banshee and grabbed her husband's arm for protection. Dudley did something anyone who had seen him in the room with a wizard before would expect him to do, and tried to hold onto his entire but with just two hands and run from the room, rattling the windows with every step like a Tyrannosaurus.  
  
Vernon finally managed to pry his wife's fingers from their death grip on his arm and rushed through the kitchen like the maniac he thought his nephew's godfather to be, opening and slamming cupboard doors and drawers looking for ~ only he knew what. He could be heard muttering things to himself like "don't know what he's capable of" and "teach him to come `round here again" while holding up everything from wire eggbeaters to a large wooden spoon.  
  
Petunia was certain her husband had become more than slightly unhinged ~ though, what self-respecting man *wouldn't * be in the face of wizards? Though she did start to worry when he suddenly held up what appeared to be the things he had been looking for: a saw-like knife used for cutting turkey and tough steaks, and a metal skewer.  
  
Petunia gulped at the glint in her husband's eyes.  
  
Vernon laughed like a madman, and proceeded to fling open the front door, hold his makeshift weapons high over his head and shout:  
  
"TAKE THIS, YOU OVERGROWN MONGREL! YOU'RE NOT TAKING A STEP INSIDE MY HOUSE THIS TIME AND I'LL BE DAMNED IF YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY AGAIN-"  
  
He stopped.  
  
A young blonde man in a blue cloak was clutching the handle of a small collection bucked that said *SAVE THE WHALES * in black print across the front. His face had completely drained of color and his hands were shaking so hard Vernon could hear the change rattling around inside the container. His mouth moved wordlessly in sheer horror as he looked from the knife to the skewer with eyes the size of Petunia's dinner plates.  
  
Vernon lowered his arms.  
  
The man backed up a step, tumbled backward down the front stairs, got up and tore down the Dursley's driveway, arms flailing wildly and blue cape billowing behind him ~ displaying very clearly the picture of a smiling cartoon whale with a jet of water squirting from its spout. The man stumbled once, and sprinted down the middle of the road, screaming about lunatics.  
  
Vernon was not in a very happy mood when he closed the door, making sure to lock it.  
  
The next two hours were uneventful at Privet Drive, save the incessant whimpering from under Dudley's bed that was the aforementioned teenager and the way the entire household seem to jump at the tiniest noises.  
  
A very similar ruckus was created at a second knock at the door, and Vernon, figuring it very unlikely for two charities to be collecting in the same neighborhood on the same day (and finding it very likely that he would be getting no more Save the Whales funds collectors for a very long time) approached the door stealthily, holding up the knife and skewer in front of him as though expecting someone to suddenly break through the front door.  
  
Vernon did not shout this time, but he did fling the door open rather sharply and hold Petunia's kitchen utensils out in front of him in a rather intimidating way.  
  
There was nothing in front of him. At least, he thought at first. Then the shrill screaming caught his attention and he noticed a very small girl (she had been, incidentally, been looking for her cat) in a yellow dress tearing down his driveway as fast as her tiny little legs could carry her, shrieking in terror the whole way.  
  
Not a word was said as Vernon shut the door again, locked it and latched it tightly. Assuming they made it through today, he planned to go to the hardware store first thing tomorrow (today was Sunday, so unfortunately nothing was open at this time) and buy several more locks… twenty or so should do it properly.  
  
It wasn't until much later that afternoon that the doorbell rang. This did not create nearly as much of a stir as the knocking had for, as the Dursley's all assumed, Black was a wizard and would most likely not know how to operate a simple doorbell. The little girl must have been simply too short to reach it, and the young man had not enough sense.  
  
So for these reasons Vernon felt it quite proper to leave Petunia's kitchen things on the table and approach the door empty-handed. He was very reluctant to do so, as he had not let go of either of them once since that morning. But he approached the door much more calmly than he had the previous two times, and opened it.  
  
Fortune was not favoring the Dursley's today.  
  
The man's long black hair was combed and pulled back into a neat ponytail, and his face had a bit more color to it than when Vernon had seen him last. He was dressed in muggle clothing, a black shirt and blue jeans, but the wand he held by his side gave him away.  
  
The man gave Vernon a pleasant bordering on mischievous smile.  
  
"Good afternoon," he said politely, "I wish to speak with your family ~ your *entire * family ~ on a matter regarding my godson."  
  
The man seemed to be holding back the desire to laugh at Vernon's face, which had, quite impressively, changed from purple to white to green to a mix of the three in about ten seconds. Vernon was unable to speak. He didn't move.  
  
"Oh, don't worry," said the man, twiddling with his wand in a way that it was very casually pointed at Vernon's face, "This isn't going to take long."  
  
* * *  
  
Twenty minutes later, Sirius Black strolled down the driveway of number four, Privet Drive, whistling quite cheerfully. He left behind what seemed to be an empty house ~ when one did not notice the three white rats that scurried about the rugs in a complete panic. Sirius was quite satisfied with leaving the house this way, as he knew that there was nothing on Earth lower than rats that weren't really rats at all, but humans in disguise. And he was also sure that there were many on this Earth who would agree with him.  
  
THE END  
  
A/N: OMG! I can't believe it's over! Wow, I had a TON of fun writing this, but it's so sad to think that this is the last time I'll post for The Last Straw. My first 'big' story ever read by other people… But I'm not that emotional, so I'm not going to cry or anything. (Geez, I feel like I'm should give some speech or something: "I'd like to thank the little people…")  
  
Anyway thank you to Katy a.k.a. Katty, Lady FoxFire, Lin-z, Jenn, Starlight, 007, gwen, Ped, Ice Princess, Clingon87, Susan, summersun, Luna, Jennifer, Gia, Ms. Thang, Tiger Lily, L.B.S., SasseeSam, Ice Queen, Ellimist's Apprentice, Me, ten, kyra aku riddle, and Lady Norbert, because you are certainly NOT little people in any way and each of your reviews meant more to me than… wow that one's hard to compare. Well, as an aspiring writer let's just say that every time I read your new reviews I got so excited that I think I really started to bug a couple of my friends.  
  
This probably won't be my last story, though. I've taken your suggestion of writing a sister story (from someone else's point of view) into consideration, and the more I think about it, the more I like it.  
  
Until I start posting again… remember to keep reviewing (I'll keep checking back) and THANKS TO YOU ALL!!!  
  
~ Ravenclawmeg 


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